31 October 2011 12:39 PM

The Spectator magazine’s annual Parliamentarian of the Year awards is fast approaching. In the era of 24 hour news, where Parliamentary business is increasingly conducted through the media rather than in the chamber, this remains a worthy prize.

Although the winner is chosen by the Speccie’s own panel of judges, in the spirit of democracy it also allows a readers’ representative award . Since the magazine's baffling decision in 2002 to award the gong to Tony Blair, a man who did more to marginalise Parliament than any other Prime Minister, this is a far more telling honour.

So who are the runners and riders?

Michael Gove has been a highly effective perfomer, wiil no doubt will be among the front runners. The 32 free schools which have opened under his watch are one of the truly radical accomplishments the Conservatives have been able to see through despite misgivings from their ruling partners in the Lib Dems.

Labour’s Tom Watson and his colleague Chris Bryant warrant mention for their persistent pursuit of News International in the News of The World phone hacking saga. Though Watson's vituperative outburst last year aimed at Gove was hardly becoming of a member of parliament.

Merit too should be granted to the recent Tory rebels, Bernard Jenkin and Adam Holloway who defied the ludicrous three-line whip imposed by David Cameron on last week’s EU Referendum vote. They have risked career advancement for the sake of principle. Last week, Holloway told the Mail: 'You can't possibly not vote for that when you have been telling your constituents there should be a referendum for years. I would have looked like a complete weasel.' Hear, Hear. The Commons needs more such people.

My own choice, in case you were wondering, is Jacob Rees-Mogg. Considered a likely whipping boy for Labour MPs upon entering the Commons last year, he has charmed the house with his deft performances. In the space of a year, he voted against his party eight times and has done so with charm and eloquence and never once let his temperature get above 98.6. A true parliamentary star and future Speaker of the House in the making.

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25 October 2011 3:33 PM

Another day, another high profile celebrity escapes with his driving licence intact thanks to the that slick legal eagle, Nick Freeman, aka Mr Loophole.

In this case, it's Stone Roses singer Ian Brown, who despite allegedly being caught bombing down the M6 at 105mph, escaped with just a six point penalty and a £650 fine.

It's the latest in long line of courtroom successes for Freeman, whose sought-after reputation has turned him in to something of a minor celebrity.

But with an illustrious client list, which includes the likes of David Beckham and Jeremy Clarkson, all happy to pay the reputed £10,000 a day legal fees to secure his services, he has also become a hate figure among much of the public who seem him as an embodiment of the ‘one for the rich, another for the rest of us’ mantra.

He is also the scourge of anti-drink driving and road safety campaigners, many of whom as victims of reckless driving are frustrated at his uncanny ability at helping his clients evade justice.

Their anger is undoubtedly justified.

But in a strange way, Freeman’s endeavours do serve a wider purpose, namely as a counterbalance to the behaviour of the Police and elements of the British legal system.

He has become a Litmus Test for sloppy police work, cut-corners, and lack of attention to detail.

Take, for example, Andrew Flintoff who in 2008 found himself up on a speeding charge for allegedly tearing around in a 50mph zone at 87mph.

Freeman successfully argued that because the cricketer’s notice of prosecution had arrived late, the Crown had not followed the correct procedure and the allegation should be discharged. Flintoff left the Liverpool court with his license intact.

I hold no candle for Flintoff’s behaviour, but if the police are to have wide-ranging powers which allow them to take away our driving licenses, is it too much to ask that they fill in their forms properly and get them sent out at the correct date?

To give another example, in 2005 a businessman called Jon Bradshaw smashed up his car after a heavy night’s drinking. When he was taken to hospital, a blood sample was taken, the reading of which was 359mg of alcohol per 100ml of blood - a quantity that might have been enough to kill him. Freeman successfully argued that since the blood was taken whilst he was unconscious, and thus without his consent as is required by the law, it could not be used in evidence. Bradshaw was cleared.

Again, without condoning in any way the stupidity of a man driving whilst being four and half times over the limit, this strikes me as a remarkably unprofessional of police work. If they cannot follow simple procedures to the letter then surely they don’t deserve to get a conviction.

I am not saying that I like Nick Freeman. He is garish, occasionally smug and gives the impression of a being man who enjoys his notoriety a little too much. With his fancy website, not to mention his now trademarked moniker of which he is clearly proud, there is a whiff of the ambulance chaser about him which for many represents the most abhorrent side of his trade.

But the fallout from the embarrassment he has a habit of heaping on police departments across the country on behalf of his clients can only serve to raising Policing standards.

13 October 2011 1:34 PM

One might say it has been something of a vintage year in the twit department. In fact, I would go so far as to wager that the prize for 2011 Twit of the Year (providing there is such a thing) will undoubtedly be one of the most hotly contested awards of recent times.

Let’s just take a look at the early front runners. There is England Rugby star Mike Tindall, for services to dwarf tossing. Sally Bercow, for her continuing embarrassing of her husband, the Speaker John Bercow. Nick Clegg for, well just being Nick Clegg.

Strong candidates, for sure. But hold your horses. Because just as the chilly October mist descends, two absolute peaches have decided to join the party.

Before last weekend, none of us had ever heard of Adam Werritty. If someone had mentioned his name, you would have assumed he was one of those recurring characters out of Midsommer Murders, always sticking his nose in on local business.

‘Jim, Mr. Werritty called. He says there’s trouble with some drainage in the lower field at Badger’s Drift.’ Moments later, poor old Werrity is then discovered by Inspector Barnaby and his gormless assistant in a piece of agricultural equipment minus his head.

Now he’s everywhere. But who is he? Like a modern day Gatsby, he is a man without a past but with a canny knack of springing up everywhere defence secretary Liam Fox appears to be.

The pair went everywhere together, travelling in style. He sat in on top level meetings. He even had fraudulent business cards made up to pass around among his friends which claim he is Dr Fox’s advisor, like some sort of social skeleton key capable of opening doors to its upper echelons.

But he is nothing of the sort. He operates in no official capacity other than being Dr. Fox’s best man at his wedding.

According to other so-called ‘friends’ of Liam Fox Werritty is a bit of a fantasist. Says one: ‘He seems to have been masquerading as someone he was not.” Another added: “Some people like to pretend they are closer to powerful figures than they really are. Adam Werritty might have been one of those.”

Meanwhile we have Rob Sloan, a former army mechanic who has become something of a celebrity in the North East after finishing third in the recent Kielder Marathon after completing the 26.2 mile course in an impressive time of 2:51:00.

Except he didn’t. It emerge that Mr. Sloan, who friends testify to being a talented long-distance runner, hopped on a bus for the last six miles of the race and then hid behind a tree until the first and second placed runners went past, then rejoining the race behind them to claim the bronze.

Afterwards, a sweat-soaked Sloan theatrically described the race as ‘absolutely, unbelievably tough' telling TV cameras he'd given it everything he could. What a rotter!

Other than that deep down they must have both known they were frauds, what unites Werritty and Sloan in their patheticness is how modest they were in their duplicity.

Sloan appears to have been more than happy to take the bronze. But why did he bother waiting for two runners to go past after hopping off the bus? Surely if you’re going to cheat, you might as well do it in a blaze of glory.

Likewise, Werritty’s devotion to Liam Fox is similarly laughable, right down to those silly business cards which claim he is ‘Advisor to Liam Fox.’

Advisor! Why stop there? Why not ‘Senior Advisor’ or ‘Chief of Staff’? Scrap that, why not really roll out the red carpet and establish himself as the equally ludicrous ‘Chef de Missions’?

It reminds me of that episode of The Simpsons where Homer starts his own internet company. ‘What really matters is my title. I think I'll make myself... vice president. No, wait! Junior vice president!’

What a pair of puffed-up prats.

I do not know Mr Werritty, nor Mr Sloan. But the kindest thing I can say about either of the them is that they are both complete and utter twits.

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10 October 2011 3:30 PM

In fairness, it was probably the biggest splash made by an English player all tournament.

Just when you thought there couldn't be any more laspes of discipline from the English rugby team, Manu Tuilagi goes and hurls himself from a ferry whilst it was docking in Auckland.

It probably isn't fair to single Tuilagi out for special treatment, since he was one of England's better performers. There were far more suitable candidates to have been made to walk the plank.

But there is some welcome news for anyone else still suffering from the fallout of England's ignominious exit from the World Cup.

The producers behind The King’s Speech have bought the film rights to The Grudge, Tom English’s excellent account of the now legendary 1990 Calcutta Cup match between Scotland and England.

If nothing else, it should make a wonderfully nostalgic trip down memory lane.

For those with short memories, the book centres around the final match of the (then) Five Nations Championships and it was the big one.

Both sides were undefeated and so everything was still to play for: The Calcutta Cup, The Triple Crown, the Championships title, and, of course, the opportunity of a Grand Slam.

England were heavy favourites. They had blown away everyone in their path, but had made few friends along the way. Their formidable back line of Hill, Andrew, Carling, Guscott and Underwood were easy hate figures. Plucked, preened and officer class. I did not like them.

Scotland, meanwhile, were a workmanlike side with no media stars but in Lions heroes Gavin Hastings and John Jeffrey they had two genuinely world-class players.

The build up to the match is now legendary. The glorious Edinburgh sunshine; Scotland’s captain David Sole leading his team in a slow walk on to the Murrayfield Turf; A belting rendition of the Flower of Scotland.

In the end, despite England’s near-unbeatable reputation, it was Scotland who triumphed, thanks to a try from 21 year-old winger, Tony Stanger. I can still remember the BBC’s Bill McLaren having what sounded like a minor coronary as Stanger accelerated through the English defence:

‘Pick up by Jefferies… Jeffries to Armstrong…Armstrong nicely out to Gavin Hastings…Gavin Hastings goes for the kick through… on goes Stanger…Stanger could be there first…it’s a try!…a magnificent try!

It is easy to see why the story has attracted filmmakers. Uplifting tales detailing the triumph of the underdog spirit are easy celluloid fodder. No doubt the filmmakers will also want to make much of the anti-Thatcherite sentiment at the time in Scotland, which had been used as a testing ground for the despised poll tax.

But the book is inadvertently about so much more than that.

Like Jason Cowley’s The Last Game, which pinpoints Arsenal’s famous 2-0 victory over Liverpool in 1989 as the end of the old football era before Sky’s millions came in, so The Grudge marks the last memorable match of what was then the amateur game.

Players' lifestyles were unrecognisable compared to what professionals' are today.

Scotland’s Kenny Milne, for example, was a baker by trade so would have to turn up for training straight from the bakery. England’s Wade Dooley was an Police officer in the Metropolitan police who had fought off petrol bombs whilst on the front line of the Toxeth riots.

It is a tale not just of triumph over adversity, but of players playing for glory, not financial gain.

Above all, as England's pampered players return home, with their dieticians and masseurs, their public relations advisers and sports psychologists, it is a timely reminder of a by-gone era after which the game was never really the same again.

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06 October 2011 7:00 PM

Kenneth Clarke is probably the only Member of the House of Commons who almost, I repeat almost, transcends politics.

Whatever their political persuasion, people tend to warm to him.

He has a raffish dress sense, a fondness for real ale and cigars. He has a genuine knowledge and enthusiasm for jazz, all of which points a hinterland, a life outside the Westminster bubble.

His vast experience of politics spanning over 40 years make him an antidote to the modern day career politician, all wet-behind-the-ears with little to show on their CV other than a two-year stint as a departmental bag carrier.

But most of all, what people seem to love is that he is a maverick. He is a free spirit. He tends to say whatever he likes.

‘Good old Ken, always speaking his mind - probably had a couple of Speckled Hens at lunch,’ they unison.

This week saw the Justice Secretary in typically ebullient form, dismissing the Home Secretary Theresa May's claims that the much-derided Human Rights Act had helped an illegal immigrant escape deportation because he had a pet cat as ‘laughable’ and ‘child-like.’

Worse than that, Clarke also launched a defence of the Human Rights Act, unloved by party members as it is widely misused as a tool for escaping justice, saying it was ‘essential to a modern democracy’ and that it would be ‘unwise’ for Conservatives to promise to scrap it, despite David Cameron repeatedly expressing his wish to do so.

But he is a government spokesman, he is there to communicate the government’s position on Law and Order, not muddy the waters by delivering his own interpretation of it.

That is what the backbenches are for. Perhaps that is where he should have remained.

I have no doubt Ken Clarke is a charming and affable cove, one of the few MPs whom you would genuinely enjoy sharing a drink with. With his wealth of experience and abilities as an orator, the House of Commons will undoubtedly be a poorer place without him.